


Crescendo

by xXdreameaterXx



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Existential Crisis, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/pseuds/xXdreameaterXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has loved music once. He has loved life once. Now John Smith, the Doctor, a famous conductor only seems to be drifting through life, always on the verge of a mental breakdown in his shallow and pointless existence. Until he stumbles across a street musician, a young cellist named Clara, and suddenly it all makes sense again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Smith couldn't say how it had happened. One minute everything was fine, the next he threw his baton in the vague direction of the cellist, he muttered curses his mother would have given him a damn good beating for as a child and then he was out of the door. One note was all it took. One note so wrong that it tore the piece apart, that it shattered the sound until it was no more but noise in his ears, almost enough to burst his brain. One note and the piece was utterly ruined. It haunted him all the way along the corridors, that one note, tormenting his mind until John felt the urge to bang his head against a wall in his rage and he only seemed to leave it behind once the front door was slammed shut behind his back.  
Out there he took his first real breath in what seemed to have been years and John needed a moment to calm down. Just breathing. In and out. In and out. When finally he became aware that he could still hear music coming from the inside he started to move and followed the street down into London's rare summer heat.

He knew that his breakdown had been coming for months, he had felt it already at the back of his mind, the breaking point that would make him snap. He had loved music once, lived for it, lived for his job as a conductor. He was a genius and there wasn't supposed to be anything else in his life but that. But, truth be told, John had started to hate it a long time ago. _The Doctor_ , they called him in the newspapers and music magazines. A strange nickname for a conductor, he had always thought. Well, that part was over because he was never going to touch a baton again, he just couldn't. For months he had dragged himself out of bed in the morning to go to work and hated every second of it and once he came home he no longer switched switched on his CD player. He couldn't stand it, the music he had loved so much and that was now making his head explode. Peace and quiet, that was all he wanted.  
John reached into pocket of his jacket and retrieved his phone, though who he should call he wasn't quite sure. After he had dedicated his life to music there hadn't been much room for anything else, especially not for friends or a wife. There was, however, Missy, whatever she was to him or whatever he was to her. John sighed and dialled her number.  
“I'm still at the office,” she answered the phone with a slightly annoyed tone to her voice. That was Missy. Never friendly with him, never taking him seriously. But she was all he had.  
“When can I come over?” John asked her, even though he wasn't sure he wanted her company today. Maybe, maybe not. It was a strange day.  
He could hear her take a sharp breath. “An hour, but you better be up to it this time because I'm not wasting my spare time on another disaster.”  
John groaned. “Thanks, Missy,” he replied dryly, “You really know how to boost a man's ego.”  
Then suddenly something else caught his attention. He recognized it immediately.  
“Uhm, I,” John stammered into the phone, “I have to go. See you later.”  
He dropped the phone back into his pocket and followed the familiar sound of Bach's cello suite. Five minutes ago he had been ready to renounce music forever and now he was chasing the poignant sound of a hauntingly beautiful song. John couldn't say how often he had heard this piece in his life, the amount probably couldn't even be counted, but he had never heard it quite like this. Even through the noise of the bustling city it was still so clear, almost eerie and it reached into the depths of him as he approached the corner, imagining who could be playing it like this. Surely it was an old man like himself who had been playing this particular piece for 40 years or more and knew it by heart but once John turned around the corner he saw only her.  
A young woman, surely not even in her 30s, was sitting on a small stool, the cello propped up in front of her as she caressed it and John hated himself a little for thinking so, but he had never seen a woman as attractive and beautiful as her. Surely there had been others, more attractive and more beautiful, but they hadn't been able to make music like her. He had expected people to flock around her, to praise her for her playing but John only saw a handful of people who stopped and dropped some quid into her case before resuming their walk. The woman didn't appear to be noticing them at all.  
The closer he came the more he saw of her. Her dark eyes that seemed to be drifting around, but never latching on to something, her brown hair that shone in the sunlight, her swift fingers and John sank down on the nearest café chair to watch.  
The cellist was magnificent and he felt utterly spellbound as he drank in every note that came from her instrument, every single one of her movements. He wanted to do nothing but listen to her play for the rest of his life.  
“Can I get you anything?”  
John turned around to see who it was that had so rudely interrupted him in his trance and spotted a young water, obviously ready to take his order. He chose an espresso simply to get the man off his back. He didn't want anything to eat or drink, he just wanted to sit here and watch _her_.

Then his phone rang, providing yet another distraction and only now John noticed that more than an hour had passed since he had spoken to Missy.  
“Where the hell are you? I left work early for you, you know?”  
“I,” John wanted to explain himself but once he turned around to where the cellist had been the whole time there suddenly was no one there anymore. She was gone and the silence she had left behind felt soul crushing and empty.  
“You were just on your way and you'll be here in a few minutes?” Missy asked on the other end of the line.  
John looked around, but he couldn't spot the cellist anywhere. She was gone and he hadn't even spoken to her. Why hadn't he spoken to her?  
“Yes,” he said absent-mindedly into the phone, “Yes, I'm on my way.”

It took him more than just a few minutes to get to Missy because John had no idea where exactly he had wandered off to in pursuit of the music but half an hour later he had found his way back to Missy's house.  
“I think I quit my job today,” John said as he was lying on her bed and Missy sat right next to him, massaging him through his trousers.  
She snorted. “Don't be silly.”  
“I'm not being silly. I stormed out of the building and I have no intention of going back,” he explained and tried to concentrate very hard on what her hands were doing.  
Missy leaned a bit further into the massage, dipping her hand beneath the waistband of his trousers to get a better hold of him. She squeezed hard and it felt good, but still it lacked a certain something. It just wouldn't grow hard. John groaned at the frustration of it.  
“You need to relax,” she whispered way too sweetly. Missy wasn't the sweet type and he thought she should better not try to be at all.  
“I can't relax,” John spat. He really wished he could just get it up now and get it all over with. The sweet release of coming inside a woman was what he truly craved now. To just sink into her and forget.  
“Why don't you take a pill? I still have some-”  
“The pill didn't work last time,” he interrupted her angrily, slapped her hand away and sat up in bed. If this state was permanent, it would rob him of his last joy in life.  
Missy crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. John could already tell she would give him a lecture about wasting her time, so before that could happen he jumped out of bed, reached for his jacket and darted out of room.

John made his way through the streets, not knowing where he should be going to. Home? Nothing was waiting for him there and he really had nowhere else to go now. No job. No wife. No friends. His life just didn't make sense to him at all and for a while he wondered how it had come to this.   
Somehow he found his way back to the little café but the cellist still hadn't returned, so John simply sat down and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh, thank you guys so much for the first comments :) Now, let me quickly use the weekend for some writing before I have to go back to work tomorrow. . .

When the alarm tore him from his sleep John let out an annoyed groan before he outstretched is hand, felt for the clock and, once he had gotten hold of it, threw it against the nearest wall. There was a loud shattering noise and then silence.  
Soon he became aware of the hammering headache that came with his hangover and, shortly after, the vibrating of his phone. John considered giving it the same fate as his alarm clock, but instead decided to answer it.  
“Yeah?” he croaked huskily.  
“You didn't come back last night,” Missy noted and there was a hit of something in her voice that he couldn't quite place. Was it worry?  
“Went to a café, then a pub,” he replied dryly. John didn't feel like he needed to justify his actions in front of Missy. She wasn't his mother and she wasn't his girlfriend. She was nothing to him and the fact that he hadn't thought about her at all ever since he had left her house made one thing very clear to him for the very first time.  
“Missy,” he began carefully, “Maybe we shouldn't see each other for a while. I think I need a break. From everything.”  
She snorted on the other end of the line. “That's actually a very good idea, since all you've done lately has been wasting my time.”  
John realized that, even though she could have put it a little more nicely, Missy was right. Feelings had never connected them, just sex, and with that he had struggled of late under the rising pressure of his existential doubts. Their attempts had become tedious, embarrassing even and John thought this was the perfect moment to stop trying altogether. They were wasting each other's time.  
“John?”  
“Yes?” he asked back after she had torn him from his thoughts.  
“Are you alright?”  
Missy sounded sincere in her question but he knew that she would never actually acknowledge his doubts and feelings about his own life. So he simply hung up and sank back into bed.

John wasn't alright. He was a man in his 50s who had no one and nothing, not even a job any longer and yet he knew that he had no one to blame but himself. John had chosen this path by himself, he had chosen to give himself to music and that was why he was here now. His phone rang again, someone from the orchestra, and he silenced the call. There were other messages on there, too, begging him to come back. He wouldn't.  
John used all of his strength to get out of bed and drag himself under the shower, determined to look nice when he headed out today, back to café where he would wait for her to show up again. His thoughts had circled around the beautiful cellist all evening and all night and even now he could still hear the melodies she had played in his head as he stepped under the shower. The thought about her just wouldn't let him rest. John needed to see her again, hear her play again but this time he would talk to her.  
What would he say? It didn't matter, he would think of something. But her music had touched him like nothing else in the past decade, it had enthralled him and captivated him and he needed more. 

After he had put on a casual suit John headed out of the door and regretted his choice in clothing immediately when he stepped out of the house. Even though it wasn't even noon yet the sun was blazing and the August heat seemed almost unbearable under his jacket. John was glad when he found a shaded spot at the little café.  
“You're becoming a new regular?” the friendly waiter asked him and John instantly recognized him from the day before.  
“Considering it,” he replied, but quickly decided to ask the question that was on his mind, “Tell me, the cellist who played over there yesterday, does she come here often?”  
A smile spread over the waiter's face. “Oh, yes, Clara is a regular, too. That is her spot right there. She's good, isn't she?”  
Good? _Good?_ The cellist, Clara, was fantastic. Clara. What a beautiful name.  
“You don't know much about music, do you?” John spat back but quickly cleared his throat once he realized that he was being rude. “Sorry, I just meant to say that she's a lot better than just good. I should know. I've been a conductor for the last decades.”  
The waiter smiled once more. “Well, Clara will certainly be happy to know that she has a fan and she's probably coming back here some time in the afternoon. She's usually here on a Wednesday. Can I get you anything?”  
“Uhm, iced tea and the newspaper?”  
The waiter scribbled something down into his notebook and nodded. “Iced tea and newspaper coming right up. Anything for breakfast?”  
John only now realized that he hadn't eaten a thing today and decided to order a croissant as well even though he still didn't feel particularly hungry but he needed to pass the time somehow until Clara returned.

He waited for three hours until his silent prayers were finally answered a young woman, carrying a large case over her back, came strolling down the street and John thought she looked even more beautiful than he had remembered her. A sweet face with dark eyes, shiny brown hair, wearing a flowing summer dress that left her legs bare and high heeled shoes on her feet that made her seem taller than she actually was. Still John was sure she barely reached his shoulders.  
Clara didn't notice him as she rushed past his table and into the café, only to come back outside with her borrowed stool a moment later and John dearly hoped that the friendly waiter hadn't pointed him out to her. If he had Clara showed no reaction as she sat down by the street and unpacked her cello. When she started playing the world could have ended around him and John wouldn't have noticed. He didn't know the song but he guessed that it was something modern as several young people stopped to listen and to drop a few pounds into her case. Maybe he should get up and do the same, empty his entire wallet into the cello case and tell her how magnificent she was but John knew that as soon as he would be standing right in front of her his voice would fail him. He had no idea what to say to this extraordinary woman and he surely didn't want to make a fool of himself.  
Instead John leaned back and watched her, completely taken by what he saw. Clara didn't play the cello, she gave herself to the music with a passion that suddenly had his mind racing in the wildest of ways. He hadn't meant for his thoughts to drift off like that but now that he had started John couldn't stop himself from imagining her. With him. An almost forgotten tingling sensation spread through his body as he wondered if she would show the same kind of passion in the bedroom, on top of him with her breasts sweaty and moving with their rhythm, her head thrown back and him touching her like she was touching her cello right now. John knew he had gone too far in his fantasy when he felt his trousers becoming a little too tight around him and he crossed his legs to hide his obvious arousal. A part of him thought that he should feel bad for staring at her like that, for even thinking about getting intimate with a woman who would never in a million years be interested in him but he didn't. He had nothing in his life except for this little guilty pleasure.

“You were right, she is better than good,” the waiter said with a smile after John had already forgotten about the rest of the world around him again. He wasn't quite sure how much time had passed and how long Clara had been playing but the sun had moved and he no longer sat in a shady spot.  
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked.  
“Uhm,” John stammered, “No, just the bill.”  
“Alright,” the waiter replied in a friendly manner and walked back inside through the café doors.  
When John noticed the silence around him he looked over to where Clara had been sitting and found her stool empty. She had disappeared once more and he still hadn't talked to her. It was okay, John told himself, tomorrow would be another day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments :) And @MissBethie: Thank you for enlightening me :) I'm obviously not a cellist (I play the accordion, the piano and the guitar, but I've never touched a cello). Let's say Clara is a really brave cellist then :D

John knew that he would never make a decent impression on Clara with the beard that had come to grow on his face these past couple of days, so on Tuesday morning he took his razor and only set it back down when his face looked clean shaven. Maybe today he would muster up the courage to talk to her. Yes, definitely today.  
He had gone back to the little café every single day and Clara had showed up in the early afternoon each time, except for last Sunday when John had waited in vain. When John made his way back to the spot today he had a smile stuck on his face, knowing that he would see her again. Clara's music made him happy for some reason, it gave him hope that maybe the last 50 years of his life that he had lived for music hadn't been a complete waste of time. And he loved watching her.  
John knew that it wasn't right, he knew that he probably shouldn't look at a young woman like that when she didn't even know he was there and yet he couldn't stop himself. He loved watching her, he enjoyed it and he enjoyed that it turned him on, that it aroused something in him when he had already feared he was past the age where he could find enjoyment in sexuality. 

Sitting down outside the café John ordered his usual iced tea and a croissant for breakfast along with the newspaper, biding his time until Clara appeared. And she did. Today she played that cello suit again, the one that had caught his attention on the very first day and he loved it even more now but he did notice that something was wrong. Clara played exceptionally well, like she always did, but somehow she didn't give it her all today. It was as if something was on her mind, distracting her, diverting her attention.   
“Another iced tea?” the friendly waiter asked him and John turned around.  
He smiled. “No, thank you. I'll have the bill once Clara is done playing.”  
“If you come here just for her every day, maybe you should talk to her,” the man suggested, “Tell her you like her music.”  
Ah. Yes. Of course John had almost forgotten about that. Quickly he glanced over to Clara who was still playing and his courage seemed to have left him once more. He just didn't know what to say to her. Clara was perfect, her playing the cello was perfect and John knew what would happen if he just walked up to her and opened his mouth. He would stammer and blush and make a complete fool of himself and then Clara would know of his presence and John could no longer come here to listen to her. If only he was a little braver. If only he was a little younger. Maybe then he could talk to Clara.   
The waiter retreated back into the café and only now John became aware that the music had stopped. He turned in his chair to see what was going on because usually Clara played for a little longer than just one piece but she was nowhere to be seen. When he turned back around however John stared straight into Clara's angry face, sitting right across from him, her arms folded in front of her chest.  
“Are you stalking me?” she demanded to know, her voice ice cold.

John's jaw dropped. For a moment he was utterly lost for words, staring into Clara's beautiful face. His throat felt dry and he had absolutely no idea what to say to her, so John remained gawking at her.  
“Well?” Clara asked, raising her eyebrows at him. She looked angry, which didn't exactly aid to make him feel less nervous. But still, she was so beautiful to look at that John wished she would never leave his table.  
“I, uhm,” he stammered, “A fan. I'm a fan.”  
John cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying his best to stay calm. He hadn't been so nervous because of a woman since his teenage years.  
“I love hearing you play,” he added, nodding towards the cello in her bag that leaned safely against a chair.  
The frown on her face lifted for a brief moment before Clara looked sternly at him again. “You could've dropped some pounds in my bag then. Or said hello. You've been here every day for a week and I do like a compliment, you know?”  
Finally John managed a smile. “Well, I think you are amazing. At playing the cello, I mean,” he added quickly, “I'm a conductor, I've heard some good cellists during my career and you are better than most.”  
John could see her mouth twitch as if she wanted to smile but thought better of it. Instead her face remained ice cold. “You seem like an unemployed conductor to me, sitting in a café every day,” Clara remarked.   
He sighed and his gaze dropped to the empty glass in front of him. “You're not wrong. I quit my job a week ago.”  
“Why?”  
John looked back up, her bluntness confusing him a little. But he was finally talking to her and yet it didn't seem to go the way he had wanted it to. Since she was blunt, John decided to be the same thing.  
“I didn't enjoy it any longer, it just didn't feel right. The music that came from it was dull and lifeless,” he said and before he could stop himself, he added: “Your music is different. I could listen to you all day long. You have a passion others lack.”  
Clara shrugged. “It's just a hobby. I'm a teacher.”  
“You should play professionally,” John granted her a smile and was about to open his mouth and invite her for a drink when Clara suddenly rose from her seat.   
“I better get going now. I still have some markings to do,” she explained.  
“Oh,” John uttered, unable to hide his disappointment, “Right. Markings. Teacher.”  
“See you tomorrow?”   
John looked up at her to see a smile on her face and he couldn't help but return it. “Yes. I'll be here.”  
“Good,” Clara replied before she reached for her cello case and made her way down the street, not even turning around once.

John leaned back in his chair, his heart beating wildly inside his chest. He was going to see Clara again tomorrow. She had smiled at him. He had imagined that to happen so many times that he had ceased to believe it could ever be real and now he was asking himself one obvious question: now that he had talked to Clara, what would John do next?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the sweet comments :)

John could hardly believe it when Clara sank down in the seat next to him once more after she had finished playing and today she even wore a smile on her face, one that made his heart dance.  
“Did you enjoy it?” Clara asked with a knowing look on her face, a look telling him that she knew damn well how good she was.   
“Very much,” he smiled back at her. Thank God his speech wasn't failing him today, yet he would never admit how he had practised complimenting her in front of the mirror this morning. “You're too good to play on the street.”  
She shrugged. “I have no one else to play for. My grandma, when she comes to visit, but that's usually only Christmas.”  
 _You could play for me_ , John wanted to say but thought better of it. While he notice that Clara was scanning him with her eyes he racked his brain for something intelligent to say.  
“Can I order you anything?” he asked her, “A coffee? Iced tea?”  
The smile remained on her lips. “How about coffee at your place? I'll bring my cello.”  
John's mouth fell open. He hadn't expected her to be so bold and straightforward, he hadn't expected her to ever want to come anywhere near him at all, especially not his home and John didn't actually know how to respond.  
“Are you married?” Clara asked, suddenly seeming a little more nervous, “Cause if you have a girlfriend or wife waiting at home that would be weird, I realize that.”  
“I don't,” he replied, swallowing hard.  
Clara raised her eyebrows at him, still waiting for a response.  
“Good,” John cleared his throat, “Let's go.”

John took Clara's cello before she could reach for it herself and threw it across his shoulder, noting that it was a lot heavier than it looked as he started leading the way.  
“Why don't you?” Clara asked after they had walked in silence for a few minutes.  
He turned his head in her direction. “Why don't I what?”  
“Have someone. A wife, girlfriend. Men like you usually do,” she replied.  
John snorted. “Men like me?”  
Clara didn't respond to that. Instead she kept walking next to him, so close that their hands almost touched and John had to concentrate hard to not let his thoughts wander off. Touching Clara was so far off limits that it would never happen in this universe.   
“Do you have someone?” he asked her back after a while, eyeing her reaction curiously.  
“I had,” Clara said nonchalantly, “He was a nice guy, but it didn't work out.”  
“I had someone, too,” John confessed, “She wasn't nice and I ended it. I guess our relationship was more of a habit than anything else. And a bad one at that.”  
Suddenly she chuckled. “I don't mind bad habits.”

John didn't quite know what she had meant by that but as they had just reached his apartment building the conversation stopped anyway when he reached into his pocket and retrieved the key.  
“No house?” Clara inquired, “Just a flat?”  
John shrugged when he turned the key inside the lock. “What would one person do in a whole house all by themselves?”  
“I don't know. Live?”  
The door fell shut behind them and John slowly made his way up the stairs, his knees aching under the additional weight of the cello but he would be damned to show any kind of weakness in front of Clara. He was already anything but impressive.  
“One more question,” he heard her say behind him, “What's your name?”  
John snorted. “You asked that after you've followed me home?” he asked back, “I'm John. John Smith.”  
“I'm Clara Oswald.”  
“I know,” he replied and already wanted to kick himself. He shot around and looked at her, the nervousness creeping back up inside of him. He shouldn't know that about that. “I, uhm, the waiter at the café mentioned it,” he explained.  
“Thought so.”  
They had arrived at the door when Clara suddenly reached for his hand, making him turn around and before John knew what was happening her body was pressed against his own. He felt her mouth on his and her kiss seemed to rob him of his breath. For a moment he froze, not knowing what to expect anymore. Clara was kissing him and her touch tingled on his skin, making him want more of this impossible woman. Could he? Was he allowed to want her? His mind went utterly blank.  
Clara apparently sensed his hesitation and pulled away. “Just to be clear, when I said coffee I didn't _actually_ mean coffee,” Clara breathed, a smile on her lips.  
“Uhm,” John opened his mouth but no words came out when he felt Clara's hand trail down his chest and come to rest right above his belt, “I'm not sure I-”  
“What?” she asked, her eyes growing wider as if expecting disappointment. And disappointed she would be if he couldn't get it up.  
“Why?” John asked her. He just didn't know what else to say. He needed to understand what on earth a woman like Clara could want with him.  
“Why?” she laughed, “Because I want it. Because you seem lonely and I want it.”  
Clara pressed herself harder against him, her stomach rubbing against his trousers and John instantly felt his bloody travel south.  
He swallowed. “Clara, I've. . . I. . .,” John stammered nervously, “I've been having problems. . . with that.”  
“With what? Getting hard?” she asked innocently, her hand wandering straight to his crotch. Her touch sent sparks flying through his body in an instant and John had to restrain himself from rubbing himself against her hand. She felt amazing. She felt exciting. And above all she felt like something entirely new.  
“I don't see the problem,” Clara shrugged and squeezed him a little harder.  
John couldn't help himself. He bent forward and crashed their mouths back together in another, more passionate kiss. This time Clara parted her lips for him and when he felt her tongue he knew that he couldn't possibly stop at just this. John wanted her. All of her. He wanted the marvel that was Clara Oswald.

Still kissing they managed to find their way into his flat and when the door closed behind them he leaned her cello back against the wall and hoisted her up in his arms, carrying her straight into the bedroom. John couldn't remember the last time he had felt so alive as he was feeling right at this moment when he peeled Clara out of every layer of clothing she wore. It seemed as if he discovered himself again when he discovered her body, showering every inch of her skin with kisses and and caresses. When he closed his mouth around her nipple Clara gasped, a sound that shot straight through his body. Clara curled her fingers into his hair and guided his lips where she wanted them until he settled between her legs. A satisfied moan escaped her throat when he buried his tongue between her folds, licking and lapping at her until she was writhing against him. Every worry he had had about not being able to please her vanished when she started muttering his name and even though John couldn't understand why, Clara wanted him, and the though of that aroused him more than watching her play the cello.   
“Stop,” Clara panted heavily and pulled gently at his hair. John looked up at her flushed face, still tasting her on his tongue. “I want to come with you inside me.”  
He surrendered himself to her as Clara turned him on his back and straddled his lap. The sensation he felt when she brushed against his erection was almost burning. John was hard and too eager to find release inside of her, but instead Clara bent down and kissed his lips sweetly while her hand wrapped around his cock.  
He moaned at her touch, unable to hold back any longer. It had been too long since he had been this excited about sex. He was desperate.   
Finally Clara led him to her entrance and took him in. John closed his eyes and sank deeper into the pillows, giving himself completely to this new feeling.   
“Clara,” her name came out as strangled sound, “You've no idea how good you feel.”  
She started moving on top of him, riding him, taking him in deep while his hands wandered to her waist. There was nothing else in this world right now except him and Clara.  
John thrust up to meet her, her walls so tight and hot around him that he was sure to lose his mind and the sounds she made, the way his name came over his lips, drove him straight to the edge. When her rhythm grew more frantic and her panting replaced the mantra she had made of his name John knew that he was close as well. Clara tightened around him as she came and John grabbed her waist hard, pulling her down on top of him until she took him in completely. He could feel the control slip away from him as he came, that instant of pleasure shooting straight through him as he cried out and spilled himself inside of her. After that there was nothing. Nothing but the sort of peace he hadn't felt in a very long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**4 months later**

 

The sound of her cello rang through every room of the house, filling it with life and, or so he thought, with love. John stretched in bed and threw the duvet aside, determined to go looking for the source of the music, all the while thinking how his old neighbours would have cursed him for playing music so early in the morning. His old neighbours. His old flat. It all seemed like a lifetime ago, another life that hadn't had Clara in it.  
John found her in the living room, still wearing her pyjamas but already at the cello before breakfast and he found himself smiling as he approached her figure from behind and brought his lips to her throat.  
“John,” she giggled and her playing wavered a little but she didn't stop. Her scent was heavenly, a mixture of sleep, the remnants of her perfume and something that was entirely Clara. John kissed his way up to her earlobe until Clara finally stopped and moaned softly at his touch, a sound that sparked his imagination immediately. They had made love for hours last night and he still wasn't tired, quite the contrary. He was undeniably crazy about her.  
“I wanted to practice before school,” she complained half-heartedly but craned her neck to give him better access.  
“Join the orchestra and I'll let you practice as often as you want,” John whispered against her skin, smiling. He had tried to persuade her from the beginning but so far Clara had resisted his attempts.  
Clara giggled some more. “I'm a teacher and I like it that way,” she replied determinedly, “I just want to use the time I have to practice. You know I can't do that in my own flat with my own neighbours.”

John rose from his position and reached for her cello, placing it back it its stand and away from Clara before he turned around to look at her. The question he was going to ask had been on his mind a lot lately, mostly because Clara always was, she rarely ever left his thoughts. Yet suddenly he felt nervous again, almost as nervous as when they had first met.  
“You know,” John began cautiously, staring down at his own two feet, “You could also practice whenever you wanted if you. . . moved. . . here.”  
John looked up at her hopefully and saw a smile playing around the corners of her lips. However she didn't respond immediately.  
“That's worth thinking about,” she said eventually, after leaving him hanging for a moment, and John's heart skipped a beat, already knowing that it would be a yes in time.  
He bent forward and pressed his lips to hers in a long and soft kiss that was rudely interrupted by the ringing of his phone.  
He glanced at the table to see that a message from Missy had popped up and he groaned instantly. “She's gonna want to see the house.”  
Clara rose from her seat and answered with a shrug. “Invite her for dinner then. You can show off your new house _and_ your new girlfriend,” she laughed when she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her body was so close to his that his thoughts wandered off instantly and he calculated his chances of dragging her back to bed before it was time to head out for work. But he was already running late and he didn't want to take a risk. John was already very lucky to have gotten his old job back and now he was actually enjoying it again. It seemed almost unbelievable how Clara had changed his entirely life just by being in it.  
“Go to work,” Clara told him sternly, “I don't want to hear a single wrong note when I attend the concert on Friday.”  
“There's an easy solution,” he retorted, “Join the orchestra.”  
She laughed and nudged him in the ribs before releasing him from the embrace and picking her cello back up. “Maybe one day if I'm tired of teaching.”

John smiled to himself as he retreated from the living room, already heading back to the shower before he turned around once more to look at her play. She was so beautiful like that and John didn't think he would ever get tired of the sight or listening to her. Clara Oswald couldn't have stumbled into his life at a better time because he vowed to show her all the gratitude he felt for changing him for the better, for waking him up.  
“What do you want for dinner tonight? I thought I could cook for us,” he suggested.  
“You pick,” Clara replied casually and turned her attention back to the instrument in her hands.  
John sighed happily and began walking in the direction of the bathroom while humming along to Clara's song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooooooooooo much for the sweets comments!!! It makes me so happy to know that you've enjoyed it!
> 
> And watch out for my next Malcolm/Clara fic called "The Intern" ;)


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